Two Seventy Four's Thirteenth
by LuminiaAravis
Summary: Being a teenager is hard enough as it is. Imagine trying to retire from the KND and dealing with the fact that everything around you is changing all at once. Chad tries to come to terms with with the end of his career, but the transition is a little more than he bargained for.


**Hey, everyone! Welcome to my newest crazy, half-baked attempt at literature. Lately, I've been watching KND almost obsessively on TV, and I got to thinking that Chad doesn't really get the props he deserves. He ran the KND since he was 8. He was the one who made it possible for Numbuh 1 to make it to the GKND alive. And he doesn't really get much thanks, does he?**

**So, this little ditty takes place right after 274 (or Chad, as we now call him) turned 13 and escaped the KND Moonbase with Cree. I'm thinking there are gonna be 2 other parts to this, but knowing me, I'm not making any promises.**

**At any rate, enjoy!**

* * *

Some people worry about peaking in college, or even high school. You know, they're afraid that they'll never live up to their own expectations, or break the records that they set for themselves so early on in life.

There are a few of us out there who have paid the ultimate price; we have knowingly condemned ourselves to lives of regret and decay. We have renounced our brothers and sisters, our countries, our schools, and our own parents. We have sold ourselves out for one last thrill.

Consider for a minute peaking at thirteen.

* * *

Chad sat heavily at the Lincolns' kitchen table. Gravity seemed to have a particularly good hold on him. He felt weak. Very weak. So weak, that a stiff wind might break every bone in his body. He was exhausted, but he couldn't seem to relax. There was an invisible fist around his heart, squeezing the blood out of his chest.

That day's mail was still on the tabletop, sitting scattered among half-crumpled napkins. Chad flicked idly through bills, advertisements, an overly-cheery postcard from the Caribbean, and a deceptively innocent-looking envelope, addressed in his mother's own hand. "Every agent in sectors V and Q," he mumbled under his breath.

Sure enough, inside the envelope lay a gaudy invitation to the party that was going on at his house at that very moment. His party. His birthday. His thirteenth.

"Crabigail said something about that before she left today to play Kids Next Dumb," Cree remarked, noticing the envelope.

"Good thing she didn't open it," Chad replied. "Numbuh One might have caught on a lot earlier if she had." Cree raised an eyebrow. "Er, I mean, that Uno brat."

"That seemed forced," Cree said, taking a seat opposite Chad at the circular table, placing a tall glass of orange juice before the traitor. Chad took it and chugged the whole thing down in one gulp. Cree laughed. "Now that's a teenage appetite. Good going, birthday boy."

Chad almost flinched. In the KND dialect, the term "birthday boy" had been reserved for only the most dangerous criminals: those resisting decommissioning, and those who had escaped it completely. It was practically an insult. Though the term had been on his mind as of lately, it was tantamount to being called the world's most infamous teen. He pictured a wanted poster with his face on it, written in the childish scrawl of a junior paper-pushing agent, glued on some wall in some school somewhere…

"Hey, I haven't eaten all day. To be completely honest, I've been too nervous."

"I don't blame you." Cree gave Chad a meaningful, understanding glance. "Trust me, my thirteenth birthday was rough, too."

"I know. I remember that day."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I didn't recognize you at first, but you're Cree Lincoln, right? You're Numbuh 11."

"I _was_ Numbuh 11!" Cree snapped. "My name is _Cree._"

"Sorry," Chad said defensively. "Force of habit. You know it's protocol to refer to agents by their numbers while on duty."

"Well, we're not agents, are we?" Cree replied. "And we're hardly on duty." She moved to place her hand on top of Chad's, but he pulled his hand onto his lap before she could reach him.

"No, we're not," Chad said. "All I meant is that I remember the day that you were decommissioned. I had to clean that all up, remember? I was Soopreme Leader at the time."

"Duh, that's right. I almost forgot all about that," Cree said.

"Miles and miles of paperwork. The Moonbase infirmary was overflowing for a week thanks to you," Chad remarked.

Cree smirked. "Well, if I was gonna go out, I was gonna go out in style."

"Sure, whatever you want," Chad sighed, and turned to look out the kitchen window. It was the new moon. But maybe it was better that he couldn't see them.

"So, can I ask an obvious question?" Cree posed.

"Sure, why not."

"What inspired you to crash the Moonbase into the sun? I mean, I thought what _I_ did was good, but that was one heck of a parting gift."

"Nah, it was nothing. I knew that Num- I mean, Uno, would stop me."

"Then why go through all the trouble?"

"I dunno, maybe because I really hate birthday parties. I haven't enjoyed a birthday since I was six. Since I first joined. I mean, when you're ten, you're at your peak; when you're eleven, you've still got time; but when you're twelve…people just look at you differently. Like you're a time bomb. They watch your every move, waiting for you to just…explode. Maybe I couldn't leave without giving them a reason to hate me, after all that."

"What is there to hate?" Cree interjected. "This happens. I mean, from an objective standpoint, they should be thanking you, even after what happened today. I have to admit, the past few years, the KND has been a real handful, thanks to your leadership."

Chad smiled, but the expression did not quite reach his eyes. "Hey, do you mind if I stay over tonight?"

"Uh, do you think I'm stupid or something?" Chad was taken aback for a moment, but then Cree explained: "Every operative in the world'll be on the lookout for you tonight, dummy. You honestly think I'm gonna let you wander around out there, with no weapons and no cred? You must be crazy."

"Thanks, Cree. I'll find a way to repay you."

"No need," Cree said. "It's just been really cool hanging out with you… Gosh, I just realized that I don't know your name…"

"Chad Dickinson," Chad said, extending a hand. Cree took it in turn and shook it briefly, before sweeping away into the hall. Chad followed her upstairs into a sparsely furnished guest bedroom.

"Yech," Cree said. "First things first. Let's get you out of that stupid costume." Chad stripped out of the familiar breastplate, emblazoned with a bold "274." He took off his helmet, and smoothed out his blond hair, allowing it to curl gently into his eyes.

Without so much as a request for permission, Cree grabbed the helmet and breastplate and stomped downstairs. "These are going in the garbage," she mumbled. "Stupid kids…is this the old home plate from the elementary school's baseball field? Ugh, that is so primitive!"

Chad slipped out of the galoshes and red sweatsuit, letting them fall in a contemptuous heap at the foot of his bed. Without another thought, he climbed into the strange bed in the strange house, and made the best attempt of his life to sleep through the night.

* * *

At around three in the morning, Cree woke up. She was thirsty. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, smacking her lips. She rolled out of bed, and plodded down the hall, past little Abby's room. There was no need to be quiet. Abby was at the stupid treehouse tonight.

Usually, she would have noticed that the shower was running. Normally she would have cared, but it was three in the morning, so she proceeded without any caution whatsoever. It took her a few seconds after turning on the bathroom light to notice the small blond figure hunched in the corner of the shower stall.

Chad Dickinson was sitting on the floor of the shower, knees curled to his chest, letting the water rain down on him. His undershirt and shorts were soaked through, casting his form into relief. The remnants of vomit circled the drain.

Cree felt a jolt of electricity course through her when he looked her dead in the face, eyes deep and red with tears.

"Does it get better?" he whispered.

"No."

* * *

Chad was waiting for her the next time she woke up, too. When Cree finally shuffled down the stairs for breakfast the next morning, he was already in the kitchen. He was seated at the table in front of a glass of root beer, with a throw wrapped around his shoulders.

"Did you get back to sleep last night?" she asked.

He didn't answer. Cree frowned and turned away, rummaging through the cupboards, looking for cereal and a bowl. "Want some cereal?"

"Nah," he mumbled. Cree sat down across from him once again, and started to eat her cereal as quietly as possible. "Sector V has been recommissioned," he ventured.

"I didn't know that they had been gone," Cree said.

"Yeah, I had Numbuhs two through five decommissioned before Uno found out about my plan."

"You got Abby? And that fat Hoagie kid?"

"Yeah, we got them. I don't know if you remember Numbuh 86, she was pretty young when you left. But she's head of decommissioning now. She doesn't mess around."

Cree took a few more bites of cereal, and Chad sipped his water idly, staring at the wood grains in the table.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" Cree said.

"If you're trying to get me to open up and spill my guts to the teenagers, then forget it," Chad spat. "Nobody ever said that I had to tell you anything about the Kids Next Door."

"Chad, that's not how it works. You've changed sides. You'd be an idiot not to tell us everything you know."

"It's not that simple. You know how you said it won't get better? It will _never_ be that simple."

"Chad –"

"Don't ask me again. Ever."

"Fine. Be that way. But you're wrong. Someday, you'll feel differently."

"I seriously doubt that."

* * *

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